


Arsonist's Lullaby

by SnubbingApollo



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Caleb's backstory broke me, Character Study, Gen, Self-Hatred, bathing as a form of self-harm?, so you can all be broken with me, the pillow trove has indoor plumbing okay just go with it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-05 14:09:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14620305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnubbingApollo/pseuds/SnubbingApollo
Summary: After Caleb speaks to Nott and Beau he takes a bath.





	Arsonist's Lullaby

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still hungover from that backstory drop y'all. This is actually my first gen fic? And my first fic without a pairing? And my first fic with unresolved angst. Liam O'Brian LOOK WHAT YOU'VE DONE TO ME!
> 
> (As an aside I can't believe I'm the first one to use this title)

After Caleb speaks to Nott and Beau he takes a bath. The Pillow Trove’s bathtubs are large and luxurious and there’s a shelf with fancy oils and soaps and bottles to make the water bubble. Caleb ignores them all, taking a simple bar of soap and filling the tub as hot as he can make it. He climbs in and begins scrubbing.

He scrubs at his skin until it’s red and sore and cleaner than it’s been in months. And then he starts on his hair, pulling at tangles and dirt. And then he snaps his fingers and pulls Frumpkin into the tub and starts on him. The cat usually yowls and scratches when confronted with water but this time he stays still and accepts the washing. Perhaps he knows what Caleb needs or perhaps he feels as dirty from Trent’s touch as Caleb does.

He still can’t believe he left Frumpkin alone with the man, but when Trent had picked them up and started petting and cooing he hadn’t been able to take it. He’d _had_ to pull away. His skin had crawled and he’d been more conscious of his layer of filth than ever. As if Trent’s hands had somehow made the dirt itself dirtier.

The way the man had spoken to Yasha had been so familiar, the smooth tones of his voice so easy to sink into.

The distant sound of screaming echoes in his ears and he clutches Frumpkin close, burying his face in the cat’s wet fur. Frumpkin allows it and even licks his face and manages a slight purr. Caleb coos at him softly and then sends him away, knowing that returning to the pocket he generally remains in will dry him.

And then he is alone. And wet. And clean.

He shouldn’t be clean.

He _isn’t_ clean. Not on the inside. He’s filthy and disgusting and covered in blood and muck and ash. He shouldn’t get to hide that, everyone should be able to look at him and see what he is.

Nott had called his pain and dirt a mask but that wasn’t right. His clean face is the mask, disguising the monster that lives beneath it.

He reaches up and tugs at his hair, curling in on himself in the bath a soft noise escaping him.

He doesn’t understand why Nott and Beau forgave him so easily. They were both so insistent it wasn’t his fault, but they weren’t there, they don’t _know_ , not really. The others have no idea at all.

He’s deceiving them because he wants their friendship. It’s just another blot of invisible filth on him.

He doesn’t know what to do. Beau is right he has to keep Yasha safe. If Trent is interested in her she’s in so _much_ danger. And he has to keep Fjord away from the fucking Academy. He can’t let them get their hooks into him.

And he can’t leave Nott. He’s physically incapable of leaving Nott.

But every moment he spends with them he’s putting them in danger. He has no illusions about what he wants to do. He knows all the many infinite ways it could backfire on him, destroy him and those around him, but he _has_ to try. If he can still save them- if there’s even the slightest chance he can undo what he did to them-

He sobs, wincing when the sound echoes in the room. Nott will hear and she’ll be worried. He has to be quiet but it feels like there’s a scream lodged in the back of his throat that’s been trying to get out for years and if he doesn’t voice it soon it will die and take him with it. He tugs at his hair harder, the pain grounding him in the moment and sliding him away from the edge. The madness follows him like a shadow, always just behind him waiting to catch up. He can feel it lick at the corners of his mind sometimes and it leaves him shivering and his skin crawling like the feel of Trent’s hands in Frumpkin’s fur. Like staring into a mouth that’s about to swallow him whole.

He takes several deep breaths and jerks out of the water like it’s started to burn him. He drys off perfunctorily and throws his dirty clothes back on. They feel disgusting and grimy against his clean and slightly sore skin but it’s almost comforting. He matches again.

He breathes deeply for another moment, chasing away his manic thoughts as best he can and snapping his fingers to recall Frumpkin, now dry and much less distraught. He lifts the cat onto his shoulders and walks back to the room he’s sharing with Nott.

Nothing feels good, but that’s only the way it should be.

Trent’s touch is gone and he’s still hidden.

Tomorrow he’ll go to the library and try to find the way to unbreak his world.

If he’s lucky he might even sleep tonight.

If he’s _very_ lucky his dreams might be free of fire and screaming.

It’s not likely.


End file.
